


Small Temptations

by thirdtimecharmed



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 05:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdtimecharmed/pseuds/thirdtimecharmed
Summary: In the aftermath of the apocalypse-that-wasn't, one is still met with difficult choices.





	Small Temptations

Adam Young was trying very hard to be good. Most people are, after all. He had made his bed that morning, put his dishes in the dishwasher, and even emptied the trash without being asked. Naturally, with the moral logic of an eleven-year-old boy*, he figured he had some bonus points that he could spend. 

He wasn’t even breaking any rules, he pondered, as Wensleydale and Pepper stacked rocks in what they hoped were arcane circles that would eventually look like Stonehenge and Brian dug away at the ground to create a burial mound. He was allowed to be out until sundown. The summer days were long. Who would notice if the day was a little longer than usual?

“Here, try stacking them like this,” he said, jumping off of a tree root to join his friends as the sun wobbled just above the horizon in a way that only the occult (or the divine, or the infernal) would notice. Fortunately, the occult, divine, and infernal were all rather busy, and Adam figured he’d put his comic books away before bed to make up for it. 

_*Which is indistinguishable from the moral logic of most people, except that eleven-year-old boys are more honest about it._

\----

Newt Pulsifer was going to be late to work. 

This was not an uncommon occurrence: between Dick Turpin, London’s public transit system, and his hazardous relationship with electric alarm clocks, Newt was late more often than he was on time. Fortunately (for him, at least), there had been some sort of fiasco at a training session and half of the staff at United Holdings (Holdings) PLC was on indefinite administrative leave. Not only was there no-one to fire him, Anathema had mused, but also firing him would quite probably reduce the staff by twenty percent. 

This knowledge was dangerous to have.*

Anathema herself was making quite the compelling argument about it right then. 

“They need you more than you need them,” she muttered into the pillowcase, half of her body draped over his. She wasn’t quite pinning him down, but if previous mornings were any indication, she wasn’t above trying. 

“Yes, but I’d like to keep a roof over my head,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “unless you want to support us doing tarot readings for Madame Tracy’s old clients.”**

Anathema didn’t reply with words, but gave a very expressive groan and rolled over, pulling the covers over her head as she did so. Newt laughed. 

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll go type in useless numbers, and you’ll bombard naive truth speakers with truth, and I’ll bring home curry and chips for dinner.”

This pleased the pile of blankets that was Anathema, and she popped her head out for a farewell kiss to send Newt out into the world. 

_*Most knowledge is, as can be seen throughout the entire history of mankind._   
_**Anathema’s conversations with the spirit realm were quite different from Madame Tracy’s. For one, hers were genuine. It was making for bad business overall._

___

Crowley was kissing Aziraphale. 

If pressed, he would’ve called it making up for lost time, but the only one in any position to press him on the subject was rather busy being kissed and not terribly inclined to complain about it. Considering the angel’s usual fretful impatience, he was surprisingly patient and willing to be kissed very thoroughly. Crowley had carefully moved from lip to cheek to forehead to shoulder, and while he showed no sign of stopping or slowing down, he also wasn’t in any hurry to rush, either.*

Somewhere in Crowley’s mind, between the sheer disbelief that he could be so lucky and the manic desire to mentally catalogue each moment, was the burgeoning realization that he didn’t have to justify any of his actions to anyone. No more Hell insisting that a certain quota of temptation be met. No more needing to convince Aziraphale that their plans could be considered vaguely holy.** The only beings whose opinions mattered anymore were his own and Aziraphale’s. 

It was just a damn shame that, as Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s collarbone, and down his chest, he was tempted to do something that he was pretty sure the angel wouldn’t approve of. And he did it anyway. 

PTHTHTHTHPTT

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley were strictly bound to their physical forms, and neither of them could technically feel pain, but Aziraphale’s elbow connected quite accidentally with Crowley’s back as he flailed in surprise, and the pair ended up sprawled on the floor. Crowley was laughing hysterically. Aziraphale was not. 

“My dear, why on earth would you do that?” the angel huffed, wishing he had a collar to straighten indignantly. The question had to wait impatiently to be answered alongside Aziraphale while Crowley’s laughter subsided. When it finally had, Crowley was lying face up in Aziraphale’s lap, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“Humans made it up,” was his first answer. 

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything, humans have made up a lot of things that you haven’t felt the need to imitate,” Aziraphale pouted in response, “that tickled.” 

“I deeply and truly apologize, angel,” Crowley sighed, his seeming sincerity contradicted by a smug smile, “How about next time, I ask permission first?”

Mollified by the realization that there would be many next times, Aziraphale smiled.

“Don’t bother,” he said, “you’ll always give in to temptation.” 

Then it was Aziraphale’s turn to bend down and kiss Crowley, and he intended to give as good as he got.***

_*Again, if asked, Crowley would have called it savoring the moment. Aziraphale, if he hadn’t been distracted and was in any shape to talk would have called it infernal teasing of the worst kind._

_**Even deeper in Crowley’s mind was the vague shape of an idea that, considering ineffability, it was entirely possible that all of this was supposed to happen and the Almighty might be smiling down on them even now. It was a very disquieting thought that he quickly threw out in favor of thinking more about Aziraphale._

_***After all, he could hardly let infernal forces overcome him without putting up at least a token fight._

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this entire fic so I could write about Crowley giving Aziraphale a raspberry? Yes. Do I regret it? No.


End file.
